Room Service

by Poppy Dunne

10

  Something’s vibrating, and not in a fun way. I blink and crack open an eye to find hazy white light flooding the room. Groaning, I pull a pillow over my head to keep out the sun. Evil sun. We hates it. My head feels like it’s doing a little construction work in high heels. By which I mean I’m hungover. Seriously hungover.

  Still, there are worse ways to wake up. My body’s still unnaturally relaxed after the glory of last night. I reach over to the other side of the bed. Empty, but the sheets are still warm from Ben’s body. In fact, if the steam coming from the bathroom is any indication, he’s enjoying a nice morning after shower.

  Mmm. I really should go join him. I hate to be an inattentive host.

  There was something, though. Oh right. Vibrations. Not fun ones. Check.

  Sure enough, my phone’s on the bedside table, and it’s ringing. I pick it up, blearily check the caller ID…and freeze.

  Todd’s calling me? Why? Maybe Lassie or Vassie or whatever got lost and is running around New York trying to find someone who speaks Norwegian or Swedish or Ukrainian or whatever the hell she is. I don’t know.

  “Hello?” I grumble, putting the phone to my ear. Then I realize I’ve got it upside down, and rectify that situation real quick.

  “Let’s get a drink,” Todd says, by way of good morning. Wow, even when we were together Todd at least held off on getting loaded until it was at least 5 p.m. In London. Or Bangladesh. It depended on how thirsty he was. It’s five o’ clock somewhere, he used to say, even on Mars. He was serious about that, too.

  “Hi to you too.” I rub my eyes and sit up. “What’s up? I’m, ah, a little busy right now.”

  “Alex, please. I need to talk to you.” He sounds kind of tentative. That’s a new emotion. He’s got a limited variation of them. Tentative. Horny. Smug. Granted, he used to have more emotions than those. Happy. Tender. Funny. And the way he sounds on the phone right now actually takes me back to the old days, when he seemed to have a soul. For that reason alone, I still myself and listen to him. “Esplanade d’Artagnan, Midtown. One hour. Say you can make it. I only want to talk to you. No. No, I need to talk to you.”

  Anyone else would tell me to hang up, or maybe take the phone into the bathroom and let Todd hear all the glorious cleaning-up noise I can make with Ben. But honestly, I’m curious about this. And I firmly believe that men can tell when you’ve gotten a good lay from someone else. It’s some sort of sixth sense. So in a small, nasty way, I want Todd to get a good look at the new, rebroken-in me. Dumb as it sounds, for a while I was convinced Todd was going to be the last guy I ever slept with. Well, that’s now officially and forever untrue. So why not sashay around a little? It’s time for new, confident me who gets out of bed with a sheet over her body to cover herself, even if no one else is there to see. I mean, in case the invisible people around me are modest or something.

  Eh, screw it. I let the sheet drop. Like I said, confidence.

  “Fine. Don’t be late,” I tell him, then hang up without even saying goodbye. Man, I am feeling full of myself in the best way possible. Though I’d like to feel full of something else, if you know what I mean.

  Admittedly my first thought was breakfast, but I realize that dick works very nicely as well.

  Speak of the handsome devil. Ben walks out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist and a gorgeous physique on display. His stomach displays a perfect six pack, a thin line of hair trailing all the way down to the happiest place on earth. He dries his hair, sees me, and breaks into another charming grin. Man, it’s like he never runs out of those. He’s got to practice in the mirror.

  “You running out?” he asks, as I start to select an outfit. Nothing slinky or awesome, just a sensible cashmere sweater and sensible heels. And an ‘I had the best sex of my life’ tattoo on my forehead, just to get the point across.

  “Well, gotta grab a shower first. Too bad you already finished,” I say in what I hope is a coy way. My coy and my constipated looks sometimes bash into each other.

  “I could just be getting started,” he says. I adopt what I hope is a ‘show me’ kind of look, and he responds by taking off the towel.

  Yep. I’d say we’re just getting started.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say as I slide into the booth fifteen minutes past the appointed time. “Trouble getting out of the shower.”

  Also trouble getting off someone’s favorite appendage, but I’m too classy to give that information to anyone. Out loud.

  Todd looks at me like I’m a dog that stood up on its hind legs, put on some nicely tailored slacks, and calmly explained why this particular dog isn’t going to be walking around on a leash any longer. Which means he’s looking at me like I shouldn’t exist. Here we are, at a trendy Midtown overpriced brunch, and I have the audacity to walk in late? Who do I think I am, him?

  Man, I am going to need some candied bacon with this revenge. It is so satisfying.

  “Alexandrina,” he says, and you know he’s pulling out the big guns if he’s using my full name. “This isn’t like you.”

  He does sound kind of hurt, actually. Damn, I wish I were a slightly less guilty person. He’s ruining all my revenge fun. Still, I’m going to keep my chin up. New, sexy, highly confident me is ready to go.

  “You sound so disappointed.” I flip through the menu—well, I don’t really flip, since each individual page is a sheet of stainless steel with the items engraved on it. Apparently paper is too bourgeois for traditional New York brunchers. “Work’s been hectic.”

  “And your...boyfriend…approves of you working so hard?” Todd asks, fluffing his ascot in befuddlement. No, seriously, he’s wearing a cashmere ascot, apricot colored and everything. I guess it’s the hip new thing these days, going all the way back to the 1820s.

  “My boyfriend’s pretty supportive.” I hone in on what I want—wild hickory Eggs Benedict with French chives and candied bacon. Who the hell knows if it’ll be good, but it sounds like an adventure. “It makes a nice change of pace.”

  “Alex, that hurts me.” Todd’s face falls a little. “I always supported what you did.”

  Okay, that’s true. Todd isn’t a cartoon villain or anything—he did support me. Back in the early days of our relationship, he’d even run out and grab me dinner when I was working late at the office. So yeah, he was supportive. He just didn’t think my job was as interesting to talk about as his. Nor as meaningful. Nor even necessary, since I technically could have survived off my trust fund if I’d had a mind to. But I didn’t.

  “Welcome to Esplanade d’Artagnan,” a young man says as he slides up to our table. He’s wearing a billowy white poet’s shirt and black slacks so tight they were probably painted on. His accent is French by way of the N train from Queens. He probably paints smiley faces on sea glass and sells them in his Etsy store. I know the type. “How may I serve you?”

  I think his little wispy mustache was painted on, too.

  After we order and start with some nitrogen-free wheat-infused cold-press coffee, which I’m pretty sure is going to make me gag, Todd and I get down to business.

  “So, spill. Why’d you need to brunch?” I am so enjoying being casual about all of this that I even manage not to choke when I take a swig of some herb-infused drinking water. Holy god, does no one just put ice in anything anymore?

  “Alex, I’ve never seen you this way,” Todd breathes. His mouth is hanging open a little. Apparently, I’m really taking him by surprise. I try not to preen too much.

  “What way?” I try to go for devil-may-care, but since I’m still kind of choking on the water it comes out more like a wheeze. Hey, I’m trying.

  “So carefree. So bold. So…beguiling.” Todd slides a little closer toward me in the booth, and my body kind of freezes and liquefies at the same time. Don’t question that, my understanding of chemistry is flawless. “I thought you were always content to take whatever crumbs life threw your way. But now you—”

  “If you say ‘take the cake,�
� this metaphor will have gone a little too far,” I tell him. But that doesn’t diminish the heat I see in his eyes, the passion, the…the wanting. That expression rockets me right back into my old, pre-breakup body. To a time when I thought he was the most interesting person I’d ever met. When we’d have conversations that lasted all night. And it’d be a huge lie if I said I hadn’t yearned to see that again.

  I’ve felt this way ever since crème brulee-gate, when I sat in that restaurant bawling into my dessert because Todd had just smashed my heart to pieces, and I swore to myself that one day I’d get him to look at me like this again. Like I’m worth something. Like I’m surprising. Like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

  And now I have it…and I don’t know how to react. After the initial wave of shock is over, I’m amazed at how conflicted I feel. I thought I wanted this more than anything, but for some reason it’s not making me happy. Apparently, one night with Ben was enough to knock everything in my mind off kilter.

  “I miss you,” he says to me. Irritation and sadness and a little bit of lust wash over me when he says it. This is the most confusing cocktail I’ve experienced since…well, since last night.

  “Todd,” I say, feeling gentle and conflicted and confused.

  Then I feel Todd’s hand slide around the seat behind me, hooking me close to his side. He also trails his fingers down to, yep, that’s my ass, hello there.

  “Uh, Todd, if you’re trying to pinch my wallet, it’s in my purse,” I tell him. Wow, that doesn’t deter him at all. He keeps swooping in, and I keep trying to slide away under the table. Finally, I pick up his arm and drop it back at his side. “What’s up with you?” I say at last. Seriously, what is going on? One minute he looks like he’s about to start quoting poetry, the next like he’s trying to get a hand job under the table.

  “Alex, don’t be coy. I know what’s been going on with your so-called boyfriend,” he says. Oh shit. My heart rate skyrockets and the world spins out of control for a second, the restaurant around me whirling by in a haze of ambient lighting and overpriced crab puffs. He knows about my deal with Ben! How did he figure it out? Already I can feel my cool façade melting like…like something that is cool and melts, I don’t know. Ice! I’m so tired.

  “I, er.” How do I explain this? How much money do I offer him never to tell anyone else, especially my mother? But Todd rushes ahead.

  “I know you’re only with him to get my attention again.” He says it softly, tenderly, and accompanies it with brushing a strand of hair out of my face.

  “Whaaaa.” That’s not so much a word as it is a non-verbal expression of all the relief and bewilderment bouncing around inside of me. It’s like I’m a bouncy castle for abstract emotion. I should print that on my business cards.

  “I know that you’ve only ever dreamed of getting back together with me.” He’s doing it again, the hooking my waist thing. And as he pulls me closer to him, once again there is a part of me—a small part, but still a part—that wants to give in to him. He’s not wrong. I did bring Ben into this just to see the look on his smug face, and maybe to get him to take a hard look at all that he lost. To get him to realize that I’m enough, that I’ve always been enough for him.

  “Todd. I can’t—” I start to say, but he puts one finger to my lips in the classic Hollywood ‘hush, you sweet fool’ gesture.

  “And I’ve been rethinking things. That’s why I wanted to ask you,” Todd breathes, sliding his hand up my cashmere-sweatered back, “if you’d…have a three way.”

  “Well that’s very sweet—I’m sorry, what?” I have never hit the brakes that hard in my life, and I’m including the time baby Rollie and I got into my dad’s golf cart in Florida and nearly went off the rails into gator territory. The Gator Escapade has not been forgotten by my family, so I do not say this lightly.

  I also nearly slug Todd to get his arm off of me. Wow. I could really use a shower and some Brillo pads to scrub all that sleaze off. How did I get duped again? How was I sitting here, thinking…what the hell was I thinking?

  “Do you seriously think Ben and I would ever—”

  “Ben?” He laughs. “You always did have that adorable sense of humor, Alex. But seriously. Vasilissa clearly likes you, and obviously with her being European, she’s no stranger to this sort of thing,” he goes on, completely oblivious to my shock and outrage.

  “Vass seems really sweet, but I think she’d like a hat rack if you put it right next to her and dressed it in Armani,” I say, as our food arrives and the waiter slides it under my nose with the appropriate amount of disdain. Snobby waiters really add to the ambiance of a successful brunch place. I look down at the wilted pile of herbs and birch bark that makes up my garnish. The eggs are the next best thing to frozen solid. I guess they don’t believe in hot food around here. At least the bacon looks beyond reproach.

  “You know how Scandinavian women are. Their blood runs at boiling temperatures,” Todd purrs, trying to take my hand again. His eyes widen when I kick him right in the shin.

  “Of course that’s true. They live in Scandinavia! They need five people in bed just to keep warm through the night!” I begin to realize how much Nordic people annoy me secretly, and that is a deep dark part of my soul that I’m going to have to address when I’m not in the douchiest conversation of my life.

  The more I look at Todd—lip-licking, ascot-wearing, doucheaholic Todd Beauman—the more I have to wonder what I’ve been thinking about this past year. What have I been yearning for? A guy who tries to hook up with his ex and his current girlfriend at the same time? A guy who clearly thinks he’s better at sex than he is?

  Was Todd always this guy? No, he couldn’t have been. Even I don’t have that much shitty taste in people. Years back, when we were starting out and Todd was just out of his MBA program at Columbia, he was hard working, yes. Kind of arrogant, that’s a given. But he’d come from a wacky kind of family in New Mexico. He didn’t want to go back home and just live out the life everyone else wanted for him, which was the same fate I was trying desperately to avoid. He wanted to forge his own path. Wanted to play with the big boys. Now he’s become them, in all the worst ways possible.

  As if to run the point I’ve just made home, Todd continues.

  “It doesn’t have to be a one-night stand, either. Think about all the fun we could have together. I could take all three of us to Bali, to Mozambique, to Portugal. I have my own yacht now. Don’t worry, it’s sensible—it only sleeps twelve. Anything more than that these days is obscene, don’t you think?”

  Okay, there is only one thing to do in this situation—take a bite of my god awful eggs so I don’t stab him with the butter knife. So I do that, and the eggs are as rubbery and underbaked as, well, everything that’s been happening the last fifteen minutes. Todd’s hand creeps up around me again. I swear to god, that thing has a mind of its own. It’s like Thing from the Addams Family, but even creepier. It’s like his hand has heat-seeking vision, angling for anything covered in cashmere and/or inviting sexual harassment.

  “Thank you,” I finally say, dabbing my napkin at the corners of my mouth and signaling for the waiter. “So much.”

  “For what?” Sweet baby Jesus, he really has this purring thing down pat. I think he’s trying to sound like some prowling jungle cat, but it comes off more like smarmy gargling. Todd’s grin falls as I drop my balled up napkin on the table, take the check, and shove it under his nose.

  “Buying me a subpar brunch, and reminding me that us breaking up was one of the best moments of my life.” I tie on my scarf and slip into my jacket. “Seriously, I only regret that you were the one who thought of it first, not me.”

  “You…you don’t want to go to Somalia?” Todd says that like it’s the craziest thing anyone’s ever heard. “We can stay away from all the war-torn areas! You know the most beautiful coastlines also have the most desperate poverty and crime. It’s practically a trade off! But gun permits are so relaxed in the third
world—”

  “Do you even hear yourself?” I pick up my purse and all but give him a salute. “Stay loose, Todd.”

  I edge out of the table, meeting the wispy-mustached waiter in the process. He looks at me with hooded eyelids, as if resentful of the fact that I’m leaving before finishing the edible masterpiece that is my eggs. Or maybe he’s resentful of the fact that I can leave anytime I want, but he’s stuck in this place.

  “Kombucha juice?” he asks, holding up the pitcher like it’s a talisman. It will ward off my desire for a breakfast that tastes decent.

  “I’ll come back never and try it when hell freezes, promise,” I say, then stroll right out of the restaurant.

  On the sidewalk, I get swept up into the hustle of New York. My breath clouds in the air as I jam my hands in my pockets and walk. Man, breathing in the crisp, snowy air feels good right about now. Hell, just about everything feels good.

  I stop on the corner, the steam from the subway grates rising into the air, a hot dog cart giving off wonderful, sizzling smells of questionable meat and onions. I did it. I stormed out on Todd, without even a glance behind. Holy god, this is a moment I never thought I’d see.

  My eyes are actually clouding up with tears right now, because I finally, finally feel free of the pain and embarrassment of the last year and a half.

  I was the one who kicked him to the curb this time, not the other way around.

  And it’s not just that petty version of revenge that’s satisfying. If last night hadn’t wiped the last vestiges of Todd Beauman longing from my mind, Todd Beauman himself just finished the job. I don’t want to be with someone who’s always angling for a new deal, always trying to find a way to have his hot Scandinavian girlfriend and someone on the side as well. I want someone who’s stronger, better, smarter than that. More decent and kind. And, with amazing luck, I actually have him. So I pick up my phone, flip to Ben’s number, and text him to meet me in the Park in twenty minutes, if he can.

  Then I pause, and change his name from ‘Ben HOT’ to ‘Ben Williams.’